Thursday, April 26, 2007


Contrary to previous reports, Garrett's Winnie-the-Pooh mobile is not broken. This literally had to have been a "healing" kind of situation because for all intents and purposes, I was headed to Target to purchase a new one. (My boy loves him some mobile.) We had shifted to playing music on his cd player to lull him to sleep. Nearly every time I went into his room I stared longingly at the object and lamented it's untimely death. And then, one day, in a grief stricken manner, I went to the mobile. I touched it and it began playing. (Turns out that actually, there is a stopper on the mobile that I never knew existed and it had somehow been, well, stopped.) Glory be!

In other, not so exciting news, our Honda failed its smog test. And I feel like the two hours in which they trouble shoot the problem and MAKE IT PASS should be up by now. However, I have not heard a mumble from them and I am starting to feel panicky. Nevermind that it's already costing us 250 lovely dollars that we really do not have and will be more depending on what they find...dun dun dun. Nevermind that we don't even drive the Honda (it's our "back up" car). Nevermind that sometimes I wish we still rode around in covered wagons...
"Axel broke again."
"Get under there and fix it, Billy."
No, we have no Billy in our family but Billy sounds like alot more of an axelfixey name than Troy. And speaking of Troy, has anyone ever said his name aloud? It could be spelled Chroy and I think you'd pronouce it the same way, at least, I would.

And also, Garrett might have eaten part of a sticker. I can't really multi-task well when it comes to theatre and boy. So I'm over at the venue and I'm measuring some stuff and Garrett is playing with my Visitor sticker and I sort of forgot that he had it and I remembered when, quite several minutes later, I heard a weird sucking sound coming from his mouth. I then recalled aforementioned sticker and removed chunks of it from his cheeks. However, I think he may have swallowed some and while I assume that paper is fine in the belly of a baby, I kind of question whether adhesive should be in there. Which has led me to wonder if that has anything to do with the abnormal amount of spit-up that has been chucking out of him today. If any of you have fed your babies stickers and have knowledge on the matter, clue me in.


Silly ministry habit my husband and I have. We really should get a job to support that addiction.

Sunday, April 8, 2007

To Kelli and David (and drains, and cracker drool, and getting up way too early)

Airfare to Sacramento: $118.00
Two nights in a hotel: $147.00
Bridesmaid Dress & Alterations: $160.00
Standing by one of your best friends as she promise to love, honor and cherish: Priceless

I just spent a whirlwind 48 hours flying to Sacramento, driving to Oroville, being in a wedding, driving back to Sacramento, and flying home all in time to be at our 10:45 church service this morning. I took Garrett with me, you know, for fun. I took my Mom with me because I took Garrett. Troy, obviously, could not join me as he had Easter churchly duties to attend to.

April 6
4:35 am: My alarm goes off.
5:00 am: Mom and Dad arrive. I pick Garrett up out of his snuggly slumber and deposit him into the carseat, wet diaper and all. We leave.
7:15 am: After preboarding the plane (thank God for babies!) we take off for Sacramento. It should be noted that Garrett was in surprisingly good spirits, considering that he had not followed my plan and gone back to sleep in the car. It should also be noted that I am leaving out details such as we went through security and we changed Garrett's diaper and we scarfed our yogurts because, apparently, they count as a liquid. During the duration of the flight, Garrett refrains from forcing this particular jet to join his Poopy Plane club. All parties involved are thankful for this choice, especially the plane.
9:15 am: After having landed safely, retrieved our luggage, and taken the shuttle to Alamo, I am handed the keys to my "white" PT Cruiser. And by white I mean that perhaps it masquerades as white in its spare time but, when on the job, wears a decidedly cream colored suit. And by PT Cruiser I mean that when I was given the keys I very nearly decided that quitting the wedding and going home was a better option than driving the awaiting vehicle. If you know me at all you know that I loathe, despise, and have deep feelings of hatred for such mobiles. (If you like them, or actually happen to own one, I hope we can still be friends...I'm just telling it like it is. Sometimes, the truth hurts.)
11:00 am: We make it to the McCoy house where much flower arranging is occuring. Mom feeds Garrett lunch. We hang out for a little while. I find out that the best man/brother of the groom/best friend of the groom was severely burned on his way down to the wedding, is in a hospital in Portland, and more than likely will not make it to the wedding. Not long after, we leave, get lunch, and check in to the hotel. I tell my husband to get everyone at the church to start praying for the B.M. And by that I mean the best man, not what Garrett did THREE DIFFERENT TIMES ON FRIDAY!
3:00 pm: Rehearsal. We get word that the B.M. is being released from the hospital and will, miraculously, be attending the wedding. PRAISE GOD!
5:30 pm: Delicious "Rehearsal Dinner" at Checkers. Hanging out with Kelli, Michelle, Kevin, and alot of Point Loma people begins to feel like a lunch break in the caf, but with chicken alfredo over angel hair instead of fries and cardboard pizza. Note: Gawked at some lady's gigantic diamonds. She better have bought David and Kelli a new house or a car or at least a top of the line vacuum with jewlery like that.
9:00 pm: After getting Garrett to sleep, Kelli, Michelle and I put a new twist on an old tradition and talk for awhile. Though the conversation wasn't exactly chipper, it reminds me that though separated by distance and circumstance, I'd probably claw someone's eyes out for these girls. I'd definitely give them the shirt off my back and walk around topless--but that certainly wouldn't be something they'd never seen before. We're talking about my college roommates here.
11:00 pm: Bed!

April 7
8:15 am: Kelli and Michelle pick me up for my hair appointment. We wave goodbye to the PT Cruiser. For the next few hours we talk about vacation, college, marriage, weddings, dogs, etc, etc, etc while we get curly.
11:00 am: Ben, the groomsman who is assigned to me, picks me up and delivers me to the wedding site (if you're wondering why the PT Awesome keeps getting left, it's because my mother and Garrett should not be trapped at the hotel all day with nothing to do).
12:00 pm: Pictures.
2:00 pm: Ben and I walk down the aisle. We are followed by three more bridesmaids, three more groomsmen, a matron of honor, and a best man. (His face was...well, severely burned. He couldn't be in many pictures and it was all pretty awful. But he was there. A labor of love. A definite prayer answered.) And then came Kelli. And she was beautiful and happy and David said yes and Kelli said yes and they promised to love each other forever and they 'til death do us part-ed and there were rings and there was a kiss and, in the words of Kevin, "the trifecta was complete." And by that he meant "any sequence of three occurances" (or in this case weddings) and not "a parimutuel bet in horse racing"--at least I hope Kevin wasn't betting on which of us would beat the others in a race around a track whilst carrying a jockey on her back. Although that image is somewhat humorous and the three of us did once take numerous photographs in Underoos made for husky boys so I'm not going to say that it could never happen.
2:30 pm: Reception. I got to hold my son for the first time since early that morning. And very quickly we all learned why I hadn't held him before. Cracker drool spots everywhere...all over my otherwise beautiful bridesmaid dress. The dry cleaner's is gonna have fun with that one. I ate fondue. I ate cheese and crackers. I ate cake. I laughed and reminisced and Garrett's delightful mood crashed just as the bride and groom decided to vacate for what we will diplomatically refer to as alone time. So, Garrett, me and the Babysitter (THANKS Mom, it could not have been done without you) packed up and headed for the hills, er, Woodland.
6:30 pm: I have never smelled quite so much curry or insence or both in my life. We stayed in a Days Inn in Woodland, just north of the Sacramento airport and I could barely sign my name authorizing my card because it was making my eyes water like the mouth of some enormous river, like, the Amazon or something. I managed, however, and after dumping our belongings in room 110, we grabbed some dinner.
8:00 pm: Back in our hotel room Garrett begins total meltdown mode, I realize that the shower refuses to drain and we have a fiasco, and I will spare most of the details, involving the man who checked me out not having the authority to move us to a new room so that I can bathe my baby, get the can of hairspray that is on my head washed out, and get in bed so that I can get up at 5:30 to make it to the airport. Finally he comes to our room and asks, with a thick accent, "So, the bathtub spills over?" And I think to myself, and mind you, I become rather surly when I'm exhausted, "Well, I'm sure it would spill over if I kept running it, seeing as how it FILLS because it refuses to drain!" But I say, rather nicely, I think, "No, it fills. It doesn't drain." And he says, "What?" And I say, "It makes a bath. And I would like a shower." To which he says, "Oh." And walks out of the room. I am left to wonder about the status of his return. Ten minutes later the phone rings, "You go to 107. Come for key." So we transport suitcases, diaper bags, sleep deprived baby, sippy cup, curling iron, purses, etc three doors down. Mom and I bathe (I'd decided to wash Garrett in the sink during the whole debacle) and then we sink into the covers and, oh no wait, then she whispers that we forgot to check to make sure there were no unwelcomed hairs. We could not turn the light back on because Garrett had finally cried himself to sleep and we weren't risking that. So I busted out the cell phone and used the backlight to comb the sheets for any strays. My mother seemed to find this funny because, as we all know, hairs glow with infrared light when illuminated by a cell phone.

April 8
1:14 am: I dream that Garrett is falling off of my bed at home and just before he hits the ground I grab him by the foot. My mom jumps. I've actually grabbed her.
5:25 am: Too early. Too early. Too tired to move. The alarm goes off. Up we go. We get ready, get out of the land of the clogs and the curry, return PT Hideous (which by the way, drives really nice...if only it didn't look so darn humiliating), check in at the airport, go through security, get on our plane, etc etc etc.
9:45 am: We land. Get our luggage, which takes forever because apparently every college student, family with small children, and Orthodox Jew decides to fly on Easter morning, and endure a woman saying, "Oh, look, Easter dresses," in reference to our attire. We should have informed her that, indeed, we were in dresses fit for Easter and our bonnets were in our checked luggage. It's still about going to church, lady. It's still about our risen Lord. I wonder if she'd have had the same reaction if we'd climbed off the plane in giant rabbit suits bearing hard boiled eggs and Peeps (do not get me wrong. I love hard boiled eggs and's just the principle). It should be noted that we did not actually have bonnets in our luggage. In case you missed the sarcasm, I didn't want anyone thinking we actually wear Easter hats. My brother picks us up. And we are Ramona bound.
10:40 am: With a few minutes to spare, we actually make it to the church on time. We are tired. We all have an entire day left before we can get a good night's sleep. But He is risen. He is risen, indeed.

Special Thanks: To my mom, for being Garrett's babysitter for two days while his own mommy played dress up and caught up with dear friends. To Garrett, for being a pretty decent baby...except when car rides were concerned. To Kelli, for getting married. Without your blessed union I would not have learned that there is a Days Inn in Woodland, CA that has a stopped up drain. And to the PT Cruiser, for driving well and not breaking down. And, of course, for humbling me.

Sunday, April 1, 2007

Happy Engagement Day

Four years ago, Troy asked me to marry him. He wanted to be able to remember the date.

My finger likes the clothes it's been wearing ever since. My ring (there are two, fused in to one) might be one of my favorite earthly possessions. It could tell you alot of stories, that's for sure.

I love that it was on my finger the day I said, "I do." And I love that's it's still here, loving my husband more with each passing day.

So, to Troy: happy engagement day. You're my favorite. Thanks for waiting for me.

To everyone else: hold out for true-fireworks-and-butterflies-and-everything-you-thought-it-could-be love. Because sure, there will be hard times, but it's just not worth it if at the end of the day, you don't sometimes feel a little of that initial magic lingering. Of course, you briefly acknowledge it as you step into your flannel pajamas and turn out the light. After all, what's magic if it's not comfortable?